Only Mad Dogs and Englishmen
by Wellingtonboots
Summary: In a high security ward at St. Mungo’s sits Lord Voldemort, his magic sapped and his memory gone. The Wizengamot says Voldemort can be rehabilitated but Harry knows otherwise.
1. The Hero Falters

**Title:** Only Mad Dogs and Englishmen

**Chapter:** 1. The Hero Falters

**Keywords:** Harry, Voldemort, amnesia, post-war.

**Author:** Wellingtonboots

**Archive:** Slytherin Serpent

**Summary:** In a high security ward at St. Mungo's sits Lord Voldemort, his magic sapped and his memory gone. His blank features light up as he sees on and only visitor, The Boy Who lived. The Wizengamot says Voldemort can rehabilitated but Harry thinks otherwise.

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to Warner Bros. and or JK Rowling.

**Story Dedicated to: Artemis Moonclaw, -glomp-, AchillesMonkey, Kruz, ParselmouthGirl and ShatteredxDreams who loved the Manipulator and inspired me to keep writing through the darkest times.**

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**AN:** Incidentally the title comes from a well known Indian Proverb "Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun". What that means is up to you…

**The ridiculous part is that I acutally wanted to update the Manipulator today but couldn't because the upload docs bit isn't working. Anyway the next chapter is on my webpage for anyone who wants to read it. **

_**If anyone wants to read the next couple of chapters for this story, they are on my homepage as well but be warned they are not beta-read. **_

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"**I killed Voldemort but he's _still_ alive! And he's being cleared of all charges by the Wizengamot! THEY'RE GOING TO _REHABILITATE_ THE DARK LORD! THEY WANT ME TO HELP!**" 

Harry's manic screams momentarily drowned out the voice of Weird Sisters singing a remix version of a muggle love song.

_But I see your true colours  
Shining through  
I see your true colours  
That's why I love you  
So don't be afraid to let them show  
Your true colours  
True colours are beautiful,  
Like a rainbow_

With an angry fizzle the incessant noise coming from the wooden wireless disappeared leaving nothing but a ringing silence in the room, unfortunately interrupted by the sound of seven people gasping simultaneously.

"Harry!" Hermione's scandalized voice cut through the tension in the room as Mrs Weasley hurried over to the window sill to put out the small flames that had erupted from the Harry's well aimed hex.

"Normally I won't mind, mate, but we've only got one radio," muttered Ron breathlessly as he rubbed his long mane of red locks.

Harry slumped back in the armchair by the fire, no semblance of guilt crossed his features. There was too much anger, too much betrayal in his expression and his thoughts to warrant any apology.

"Perhaps its best if we all went to bed," said Mrs Weasley casually, as if Harry Potter, twice times saviour, of the wizarding world, had not just committed arson in her kitchen.

Hermione peered at the said hero from behind her chewed finger nails with an expression reserved only for war and exams.

"Harry," she said tentatively, as though he was an incendiary device left behind by the last score of Death Eaters destined for martyrdom. "You really have to understand this…"

Harry pressed his eyelids together and tilted his head back in a desperate attempt to control his temper or perhaps in bizarre stab at praying for an alternate reality to released upon his life and erase the nightmarish reality.

"Voldemort murdered my parents," hissed Harry as hate poisoned his voice, "and Cedric and Sirius and Dumbledore. He has taken _everything_ from me. _He deserves to rot in Hell!_"

From somewhere in the room Tonk's soft cries could be heard and Harry knew that Remus would be comforting her in his gentle way.

"We have all suffered, Harry," whispered Hermione, her voice cracking under the emotional strain, "we loved Sirius and Dumbledore too,"

He wanted to cry that she had never depended as Sirius has he had and she had not seen Dumbledore's murder first hand but he held his breath.

"Harry, pull yourself together, boy," the gruff voice of Alastor Moody did nothing to calm his raging emotions. "The Wizengamot has decided, Hero or not, you can't do anything about it."

"Where's Snape?" demanded Harry so suddenly that Moody's glass eye spun sporadically in it socket like a crazed bee.

"What's that got to do with anything?" growled Moody tersely as he stilled his eye.

"Just wanted to know if he's been let off as well," replied Harry with an undeserving sarcasm.

"Now I'm having none of that, Potter," snapped McGonagall as she strolled purposely through the clutter of magical objects and people to get to him. "Everyone has and will be tried fairly…well, they'll be tried…"

"There must still be Voldemort's supporters in the Ministry, this is the only way he could possible be allowed to live!" snarled Harry, his feral rage taking hold of his mind and body.

"_Tom Riddle_ has lost his memories and therefore he ceases to be He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He remembers nothing of his past. How can we punish someone for crimes they did not commit?" demanded McGonagall, though she did not sound particularly convinced of her own line of reasoning.

"Harry, please listen to us," implored Hermione, "this is a dangerous time for you – No, not because Voldemort's taken over the ministry!" she snapped in exasperation, "The Ministry itself is having doubts about you, Harry, your mission has been fulfilled and they can't decide whether you're a threat or not…"

"Me, a threat?" laughed Harry but the it was so cold and humourless even to his ears.

"Harry, remember what Fudge and Umbridge did…the world isn't divided between good people and Death Eaters. You can't afford for the Wizengamot to see you as a potential rebel."

Hermione's words twisted his guts as painfully as Voldemort's _crucio_ had just several weeks ago. It seemed that defeating Voldemort had only brought about a new and even more powerful enemy bent on controlling his every move.

"Harry," the gentle voice of Mrs Weasley reached out to him across what seemed like an great distance, "I can't say I understand what your going through, but it pains me to see you like this…"

She broke off as fat tear cascaded down her face like the rain splattering on the window behind the curtains. However her tears had the desired effect, Harry's rage was abating.

"Listen, Potter," growled Moody who saw the opportunity to get his words through, "You got no choice on this one…"

"And why's that, Alastor?" demanded Mr Weasley suddenly alarmed as seven sets of eyes riveted on the mottled face of the auror.

"I'm not supposed to say this but – Potter, they're discussing whether your actions during the war are really war crimes – No, boy, the Wizengamot hasn't been mass _Imperio_ed by a bunch of manic _unmarked_ Death Eaters," snarled Moody when he caught sight of Harry's face, "The Ministry is going to do its best to control you, Potter, you are simply too much of an independent element, as shown by your little stints during the war -,"

"I was destroying the Dark-,"

"- We _know_ what you were doing, Potter, and the Ministry does too. However it stands that Ministry is disturbed by the magic you used. That _crucio_ curse on Bellatrix was definitely not a good idea. You can't take it back now but you can improve your chances for the future. Surely you want a nice quiet life and a family at some point, but that all depends on your relation with Ministry."

Moody leaned towards him as if to emphasised his words,

"You-know-who was an outlaw, upsetting him you can handle, but, Boy, you are way out of your league against the Ministry!"

"I just can't believe -,"

"You'd better start believing it, boy, because your life and that of your friends and associates are on the line here. The Ministry doesn't use Avada Kedavra but who needs the killing curse when you've got Dementors, uh?"

Somewhere at the back of Harry's mind Mrs Weasley continued to cry.

"So I'm being blackmailed into spending an hour a day with Lord Voldemort…"

The chilling high pitch laughter that came out of Harry's mouth cut through his ears and caused his scar to twinge with pain.

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**AN:** Reviews are the jewels of writers everywhere! **Please review...or Harry will be embroiled in indecent relationship with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Loved. Or you can read the next chapter on my webpage and then review. **


	2. The Preordained Appointment

**Title:** Only Mad Dogs and Englishmen

**Chapter:** 2. The Preordained Appointment

**Keywords:** Harry, Voldemort, amnesia, post-war.

**Author:** Wellingtonboots

**Archive:** Slytherin Serpent

**Summary:** In a high security ward at St. Mungo's sits Lord Voldemort, his magic sapped and his memory gone. His blank features light up as he sees on and only visitor, The Boy Who lived. The Wizengamot says Voldemort can rehabilitated but Harry knows otherwise.

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to Warner Bros. and or JK Rowling.

**Story Dedicated to: Artemis Moonclaw, -glomp-, AchillesMonkey, Kruz, ParselmouthGirl and ShatteredxDreams who loved the Manipulator and inspired me to keep writing through the darkest times. **

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"Breath...I can handle this…" muttered Harry to himself as he stepped off the muggle bus just outside a dilapidated block of apartment stores. Even the pavements here were covered in grim and dust, which had no doubt peeled from the building and drifted down like dandruff.

Gingerly he approached the nearest display of naked and mutilated dummies in various states of decay. However his attention was inevitably drawn to the one in the middle for it had been charmed to allow him access to St. Mungo's.

"Um…I'm here to see -,"

"You'd be Harry Potter," interrupted the dummy in a pleasantly patronising voice, "we've been expecting you, do come in."

Walking through magical barriers always caused a primeval instinct in him to send out anxious sensations and Harry doubted that he would ever get used to passing through solid glass for the rest of his life, which could be the next two hours or so.

Suddenly the world before him blossomed into a clean and efficient hospital reception hall with lime green chairs arranged in neat rows and pristine receptionist strutting to and fro behind the large counter. None of the panic or insanity of Christmas was left and there were only two elderly witches sitting serenely in the waiting area conversing in low tones.

"Can I help you, sir?" inquired a particularly striking receptionist from her seat behind the counter. "Oh! You're Harry Potter."

Harry cringed at her excitement but the sooner he approached her the sooner he could get this ugly episode of his life over with.

"I'm here to see-,"

"- that'll be Tom Riddle, fourth four – spell damage," replied the receptionist with no less enthusiasm. Mentally Harry marvelled at the speed with which people could change their long held values with the right kind of authoritative pressure. "Would you like me to show you the way?"

Rather taken aback by the young lady's eagerness Harry was about to comply when he saw the luscious gleam in her eyes which repulsively reminded him of Romilda Vane. Suddenly he felt the urgent need to be alone.

"No thank you," he said firmly and dashed off towards the stairs without further ado.

The climb to the fourth floor, which Harry had hoped would last long enough for him to collect his thoughts and still his erratic nerves, was far too short. As he stood in the long corridor decorated with the portraits of a hundred dead wizards who all seemed to be staring at him, Harry felt a sudden wave of electrocution fear shoot through him. However Hermione's shrill voice rang in his ear,

"_Harry, honestly, the man has lost his memory – __**he doesn't remember a thing!**__ – not even what the Ministry of Magic is. I highly doubt he's going to attack you in that state."_

"_Besides"_ Ron had said that morning with great confidence, _"Dad's got half the auror department present – unseen of course – but still if You-Know-Who so much as twitches in the wrong way he'll be dead before you can –,"_

"_That's enough Ron!"_

"Okay, I can do this…" said Harry to himself as he tried to forget the jabbing fear in his heart and the horrible knot in his intestines.

"Sure you can lad," cried one of the numerous portraits in a distinct West Country accent.

"Thanks," whispered Harry shakily.

"Two doors on the right."

_Two doors on the right was the permanent spell damage ward where Neville's parents still lived and…Lockhart too…_

Slowly Harry approached the door and reached tentatively out for the round brass door knob that protruded innocently from the carved wood. However before he could grasp it the door flew open of its own accord and Harry was greeted by a horrific scene.

Sitting calmly in an old worn armchair opposite Gilderoy Lockhart was Tom Marvolo Riddle in all his handsome glory.

"Oh, Harry, you came!" squealed the nurse as if they were long lost relatives and thrust a silver tray of dainty biscuits into Harry's limp arms. "Help yourself, we've been so looking forwards to your visit…I'll go get Neville."

"_Neville!_" exclaimed Harry before he could stop himself and a plump round face pop out from behind the flowery curtained enclosure. It was Neville Longbottom looking for all his worth exactly like a little school boy despite his years.

"Harry! I thought I heard someone calling your name!" Neville jumped clumsily out of his hiding place and rushed towards him. "How've you been?"

"Er…fine," said Harry as he tried to see Voldemort over the top of Neville's head.

"Oh, you've met Tom," said Neville without a glitch in his smile. "He's the best chess player ever, Harry, even better than Ron!" Harry almost cringed at his enthusiasm.

"Oh, I wouldn't say so," said the deep smooth voice almost coyly. It sent a horrible shudder down Harry's spine. "You must be Harry Potter, Neville told me that you would come to visit me,"

Sudden Voldemort stepped around Neville and Harry found himself face to face with his arch nemesis again.

"Nurse Ella has told me so much about you…" Voldemort's green eyes betrayed so much emotion as though he was finally meeting a long lost relative.

_Funny how looks can be catchy, _thought Harry cynically as he looked towards the nurse, who was simpering stupidly next to Gilderoy Lockhart. Suddenly he found himself wondering whether he could get away with murdering her by blaming it on Voldemort.

However before he could formulate a plan two arms grabbed him into a brief embrace. By the time Harry had managed to reorganise his brain Voldemort had retracted his tentacles leaving Harry breathless with fright, his heart hammering in his chest.

"You -,"

"I'm sorry," said Voldemort, though it was Tom's voice that passed his lips, "I'm so sorry that we argued…" The pain in his voice was so convincing that the nurse actually shed a tear.

A silent moment of stunned disbelief passed as Harry gaped like a baboon at the watery green eyes of his nemesis.

"I wish it hadn't been this way," whispered Voldemort, "I hope you will be able to forgive me…"

If it was at all possible Harry's mouth opened a bit wider.

"I understand how you feel, but Harry -,"

Suddenly it dawned on Harry's shock numbed brain. A thousand tiny synapses fired all at once and the pulsing grey matter regained consciousness.

_THEY'VE TOLD HIM ABOUT HIS PAST LIFE! I __**can't believe **__anyone would be that stupid but apparent I was wrong!_

_Yes…Kill him! Curse him! Rip him to shreds and may his body rot and his soul fester in HELL!_

"Listen, Voldemort, the ministry may think you're reformed but I know otherwise -,"

"Harry! You don't know what you're saying!" squealed Neville as he desperately tried to prevent Harry from voicing his all too aggressive thoughts.

"Neville, _shut up!_" snarled Harry as he advanced towards Voldemort with no clear intention in mind. His wand had been left at the Weasleys' to prevent any "rash reactions" as the ministry had put it. However a wand was the last thing on Harry's mind. The pent up rage of the last few weeks had accumulated in a bubbling hot wrath that coursed through his veins like the volcanic lava. Nothing his inner Hermione could do to calm his pulsing, quivering mind and to clear the blood red spots that were forming before his eyes.

_Blood Lust, it feels so good…_

He was going to explode, the pressure was unbearable. Suddenly his eyes were drawn almost instinctive to the pale throat before him. The red spots ruptured and the skin before him was covered in layers of swarming red and orange.

_Yes…suffer…blood_

A sharp pain ripped through Harry's forehead and doused his inner fire as effectively as bucket of icy water. His legs turned to putty beneath him and his body collapsed like a tumbling heap of debris.

Suddenly strong arms were holding him up and the cried of alarm were echoing in his mind.

"…Harry, Harry what happened?"

_Listen Tom you have to help me – Ginny…Give me back my wand…_

_Kill him – KILL HIM NOW!_

"Get off me!" Harry's arms flailed wildly outwards and his fists seemed to hit their mark for his support groaned in pain and nearly released him.

"Harry, calmed down it's Neville," shouted Neville pathetically beside him but it served to calm him down and slowly the redness drained from his vision like blood splatters sliding off the walls.

"Are you alright?" the deep reassuring voice of Tom Riddle sent a warm sensation coursing through Harry's body but suddenly it was gone leaving Harry to gape up at the handsome face with nothing but animosity etched on his features.

"I'm fine, get off me!"

It was only then that Harry noticed the large red mark on Tom…no…_Voldemort's_ left cheek.

"Oh, by Merlin, what _was_ all that about?" asked Gilderoy Lockhart looking positively ecstatic.

"Harry, the nurse has gone to get a healer," said Neville who had somehow managed to grasp hold of his hand and was clinging onto it like a leech. However Harry felt too drained to pull away and far too drained to lift himself out of Tom's embrace like grasp.

As if on cue two healers and a frantic nurse burst forth onto the scene as though preparing to do battle.

_Though,_ thought Harry cynically, _it wouldn't have been much good if Voldemort really had decided to attack me. Clearly these incompetent sods at the Ministry didn't think to stage more people here…so much for "half the auror department"._

"Um…Mr Riddle would you be so kind as to help Mr Potter onto a bed, please," said the female healer somewhat awkwardly.

Tom complied and half carried half dragged a feebly protesting Harry towards the nearest bed.

"I can walk on my own,"

"I really wouldn't advise that, Mr Potter," grunted the older male healer who looked almost as battered as Alastor Moody. "You seem to have suffered some sort of fit by what Nurse Ella has told us. Do you have a history of epilepsy?"

"No!" snapped Harry indignantly as Tom settled him on the bed but he could not raise his hand to slap away the older man, who promptly stood next to him like a perverse version of a concerned guardian.

"Have you ever contracted Milky Sod's Disease?"

To his credit to the healer managed to say this with a perfectly straight face though Harry had to constrain his astonished amusement.

"No! I grew up with muggles!"

"Have you ever contracted the Skittles?" asked the healer as he ploughed on with determination.

"What! Are you joking or something?" demanded Harry as he lay back on the bed panting with the extrusion of talking. Besides him he saw Voldemort lift his hands.

"Harry, Skittles is a fatal disease! You have had the vaccine haven't you?" demanded the healer as though it was entirely his concern that Harry did not know what Skittles was.

"_Skittles_ are a type of muggle sweet," snarled Harry, "and no I haven't got it and don't need a vaccine against it."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tom Riddle looking scandalised.

"Mr. Potter, I do insist that you take this seriously," remanded the female healer sternly.

"Look, I'm fine apart from the fact that I'm currently stuck in the same room as -,"

Harry's voice was choked off as something hard smacked into the back of his head with brute force and cracked his jaws together.

"Mr. Longbottom!" exclaimed healer as though Neville had smashed a priceless possession. "There is no need for wanton violence."

Neville, however, did not look abashed in the slightest, in fact a determined gleamed had appeared in his eyes that made them glint almost feverishly, just like the time when he first laid eyes on Bellatrix Lestrange.

"I need to speak with Harry in _private_," said Neville forcefully through clenched teeth.

"Fine," spat Harry as he gingerly rubbed the raised lump on the back of his neck. Never in his quidditch career had he managed to receive such a damaging injury.

_I wonder why we didn't get Neville to be Beater…_

As Harry leapt off the bed a hand gripped his arm tightly and to his dismay it belonged to none other than the bringer of perpetual misery, Lord Voldemort.

"Harry, we need to know what it wrong with you first…"

"What is with you and this sudden concern for me!" snarled Harry

"_Harry, we need to talk!_" growled Neville through clenched teeth as if Harry was the one at fault for behaving in such an indecent manner.

Twisting out of Voldemort's surprisingly warm grip Harry staggered out after Neville leaving a mix of infuriated staff and bewildered patients.

Harry was too busy glaring at the floor as he turned the corner to realise that he was about to walk someone. Instead he walked straight into the outstretched palm of Kingsley Shacklebolt and stumbled backwards. Upon regaining his balance Harry saw himself faced with an entire division of the Law Enforcement Department complete with Hit Wizards, Department of Magical Catastrophes personnel and a generous sprinkling of gnarled aurors. Making so many people stay silent was quite a feat in itself.

_Alright, maybe Ron had not been exaggerating after all…but what's with the Department of Catastrophes? Do they know something I don't?_

"Harry, did you _listen_ at the Ministerial Hearing?" demanded Kingsley in exasperation.

"Which one would you be referring to?" asked Harry sarcastically and several dangerous wizards glared at him from the back of the group.

"The only one which you attended!" snapped Kingsley, quite out of character.

"Oh, that one, well forgive me for being too upset to have taken in all the information!" replied Harry with a snarl that would make Snape jealous.

"Actually," piped an extraordinarily short man in the front row, "at the Ministerial Hearing only the outline of the project was described. The details were filled in at the latest hearing, which Mr. Potter didn't attend."

"Well, I'm sure those of his friends who did bother to drag their behinds out of bed will have filled him in," said Kingsley and Harry was almost taken aback by the bitterness in his voice. This moody, grumpy Kingsley was not something that turned up even in Harry's darkest nightmares of intrigue and betrayal.

"Actually," said Neville in a very small voice as he shuffled his toes, "I don't think they managed to do so…"

"And whose fault is that?" demanded Kingsley forcefully as he eyed Neville beadily.

"Well, there's no use laying into either of them now," said the short man almost jovially, "We'd better fill them in."

"Potter," snapped Kingsley, "listen carefully or you'll end up breaking the law. You are not allowed to talk about Tom Marvolo Riddle's past life in any way, neither are you allowed to imply anything negative about his past."

Harry's jaw dropped open like a malfunctioning piece of muggle machinery, despite the fact that he had known there would restrictions.

"You are not allowed to speak of your past to him either" continued Kingsley ploughing on, "nor are you allowed to refer to any negative connections you may have had with him. In addition you must quote the Ministry's story, you know what that is don't you?"

The utterly incredulous look etched on Harry's face did not look promising so Neville stepped in to help.

"The Ministry has officially stated that Tom Riddle left the country after falling out with his family and remained abroad for the last sixteen years. After he returned he naturally sought you out but you two quarrelled and had a duel. His spell backfired and left him with amnesia.

Oh and…uh you can't tell anyone about this ever…"

"_What_!" demanded Harry snapping out of his shocked state as though the ice around his mind had shattered like glass.

"Have you read the Prophet at all lately?" demanded Kingsley looking as though he would dearly love to get hold of a copy and ram it up Harry's left nostril.

"No, I'm so sorry but I was too busy trying to understand why _Voldemort_ is still alive!"

Several of the dangerous looking men twitched involuntarily at the sound of the fearsome name and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Look," he continued heatedly, "I've been out of joint so instead of blaming me, couldn't you just fill me in?"

"Fine, Potter. The Ministry had formally announced that Lord Voldemort has been vanquished by you."

Harry blinked.

"Harry," interjected Neville nervously, "the ministry doesn't want to panic the populace. Tom Riddle has been given a new identity and can live his life in peace…"

"_He doesn't deserve to live his life in PEACE_," cried Harry so suddenly that Neville jerked backwards in fright. "He _deserves_ to rot in HELL!"

"I told you he can't be reasoned with," muttered someone in the crowd and Harry felt for the second time that the day the heated urge to kill rising.

"Harry, please, it's for the best and even if it isn't you've got to play along with in." pleaded Neville in an uncanny parody of Hermione's last speech.

"If you have as much brains as Dumbledore said you did you'd better listen to Mr. Longbottom," said Kingsley curtly "Come on men back to your positions."

Harry did not protest to his abrupt dismissal perhaps in the back of his mind he had known this was going to happen. The rather depressing thought drowned his anger and the rage was gone as suddenly as it had come.

"I guess that explains why everyone likes me so much now," he muttered and Neville eyed him cautiously.

"I can't say I envy you, Harry," said Neville after a brief pause, "but like my Gran said _roll with the punches_. If you ask me…I don't like it anymore than you do."

Harry's eyes brightened momentarily at the show of support but then fell back to their original dazed state.

"We'd better go back inside…" muttered Neville uneasily as though he was afraid he had said too much.

"Neville…why did Voldemort _naturally seek me out_ in the story…it doesn't make sense…"

"Uh…" a small bead of sweat had formed on Neville's brow and was busy trickling down his temple. "Uh…because," his voice suddenly sounded very small, "because you are supposed to be his closest living relative."

Harry ran away.

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**AN:** Harry just can't handle it anymore so he had to get away before he choked Neville and Voldemort and Gilderoy Lockhart for good measure.

**Please review…**_**puppy dog eyes**_


	3. For the Greater Good

**Title:** Only Mad Dogs and Englishmen

**Chapter:** 3. For the Greater Good.

**Keywords:** Harry, Voldemort, amnesia, post-war.

**Author:** Wellingtonboots

**Archive:** Slytherin Serpent

**Summary:** In a high security ward at St. Mungo's sits Lord Voldemort, his magic sapped and his memory gone. His blank features light up as he sees his one and only visitor, The Boy Who lived. The Wizengamot says Voldemort can be rehabilitated but Harry knows otherwise.

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to Warner Bros. and or JK Rowling.

**Dedicated to: Everyone who likes this story, I so sorry for the hiatus, and Manipulator Fans because the chapter 19 is half done!**

**Next chapter is on my website - none betaed and subject to change but you can read it if you want to. **

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"So then I ran away because I was sure I was going to kill him, right there and then," whispered Harry hoarsely as he tipped his bottle of butterbeer towards Ron.

"I can sympathize, mate," said Ron quickly, "Sorry I didn't tell you about…you-know-what."

"Nah…I don't blame you because I would have gone berserk and burnt down your house," said Harry lightly as he downed some more of his beer.

The clock on the far wall chimed six with brutish efficiency and Ron looked up in dismay.

"Look, mate, are you sure you don't want to come to our house for dinner. Mum's made meat balls…"

"No…I'll be fine on my own, Ron, I'm an adult now, besides I'm sure Hermione will drop by to berate me sooner or later."

"I try to head her off if I see her," muttered Ron reassuringly, "well so long, Harry."

Ron lingered a little longer on the door step than usual and then walked slowly down the apartment stairs like a lost stray, sneaking peeks back at Harry's open door when he thought he was out of sight.

_God! How I wish I could just be normal! _Grumbled Harry and tottered over to kitchen to get a stronger beverage.

"Harry, that was really, really _irresponsible_," snapped Hermione as she dragged the limp body onto the battered couch and then felt slightly silly for her outburst because Harry was clearly incoherent.

"Ya know what, Herm?" demanded Harry as he writhed on his back trying to make himself comfortable on the lumpy settee. "Tom's now officially my _closest biffing relative_…he he!"

"Oh, Harry I know it was a shock to you but was there any need to get so _drunk_. You'll have the most awful headache tomorrow and you'll miss your appointment!"

"Oh deary deary me, Tommy's gonna miss me," pouted Harry as his left arm flayed outwards.

"Harry…oh! I have to get you to the Weasleys because you'll probably slit your wrists in this state…if you can find a razor."

The insides of his eyelids glowed a dull orange as Harry finally lapsed into unwilling consciousness. However that was the least of his problems.

"Harry, are you awake?" someone was leaning over him but Harry could not open his eyes for fear that he would see something…unpleasant.

"Harry, you have to get up now, everyone's waiting for you."

"Tell them to get lost," he grumbled and rolled away from the intruder.

"Harry! For heaven's sake you can't just drink yourself into oblivion and expect the rest of us to pick up the pieces. Besides McGonagall and Moody are downstairs, not to mention Kingsley, Remus, Tonks and -,"

At last Harry's sleep clogged brain registered the obnoxiously shrill voice of Hermione on a war path.

"Okay, I get the picture…just let me get dressed,"

"If you're not down in five minutes I have permission to douse you with cold water," said Hermione threateningly.

"As if you need permission to do that," muttered Harry under his breath as he heard her leave the room.

Four and half minutes later the door to the kitchen swung open of its own accord with a pleasant squeak and several sarcastic gasps curtsey of the twins and Ginny resounded through the room.

"Make way for the _most brave hero _the wizarding world has-,"

"Don't you think that's getting a bit old, George?" snapped Harry wearingly while pointed ignoring the seven other people seated rigidly around the table.

"No, we want to worship the ground to walk on, oh great Harry Potter can we…_have your autograph please!_". It was typical of Fred and George to have actually bought pieces of perfumed parchment and flamboyant quills of the sort that only Dolores Umbridge could stomach.

"Fred! George!" snapped Mrs Weasley as she slipped seven eggs, two large mushrooms, five sausages and a portion of Mckain's Pickled Eel onto the only empty plate. "Do sit down dear, we were just waiting for you."

"Oh, there was really no-,"

"Course there was need, Potter, you can't escape us for long," snarled Moody his face twisting into a particularly grotesque version of a smug smile. Harry felt his appetite slip away…

"Eat up, Harry," interjected Mr Weasley with false cheer.

Reluctantly Harry picked at his pickled eel and eggs while everyone else cleared their plates with relish.

"Now, Potter," said McGonagall in her business like tone, "you have an appointment at noon today -,"

"I'm guessing it's not the dentist," replied Harry dryly and across the table Ron grinned in appreciation.

"_No_, it's not with a dentist, it's with…Tom and I do hope you'll say a little longer than you did last time. The Ministry has handed me the list of objectives in this _project_ and also a list of rules you have to compile with."

"Um,"

"And for your sake Mr. Potter, I do hope you follow them because You-Know-Who is no longer your greatest worry."

Two pieces of crisp parchment appeared out of nowhere in front of Harry's plate and almost instantly soaked up the split grease from the table much to Harry's petty amusement. The objectives or rather "objective" was written in large bold lettering across the page as if to catch Harry's attention.

"_To rehabilitate He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named otherwise know as Tom Marvolo Riddle." _

Underneath the obnoxious title was a short list of minor objectives for the said suject, which included ridiculous things like.

"_Successfully navigating London_ _using only Muggle public transport,"_

Harry snorted with laughter as he imagined Lord Voldemort stepping happily onto the London Underground surrounded by a crowd of antisocial commuters. Harry was beginning to realise that it was actually not such a good thing that Voldemort could not remember anything about his past life because he, Harry, would thoroughly enjoy watching the Dark Lord exterminate everything single ministry official in retribution for this absurd program.

"Some how I don't think this _project_ is going to be successful," said Harry after finally controlling his mirth causing Hermione to look slightly more scandalised than usual at his behaviour. "Please, am I going to have to teach Voldemort how to use the Tube? Are you _nuts?_"

McGonagall pursed her lips and glared like a morally offended religious zealot but thankfully Fred and George intercepted her tirade.

"Course, those _objectives_ aren't set in stone," said Fred hastily as he snatched the parchment from under Harry's nose.

"The ministry are really keen to work _with you_ -," said George.

"- So just march in there and demand a rewrite ﾨC,"

"- And a pay rise if you want,"

"No big deal, besides you'll be doing the world a service -,"

"- Not that you really have much choice -,"

"- But as Uric the Oddball once said: -,"

"- Appearance is everything -,"

"- Make it look like you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart and no one will be able to stand in your way."

"- The Ministry might want to take you down but as long as you have the people on your side nothing can hurt you -,"

"- Well…"

"Okay, boys," interrupted Mr Weasley before the conversation became a spontaneous comedy.

"Potter," growled Moody from behind his mountain of eggs and bacon, "you don't have a chance in hell against the ministry so keep your mouth shut and just do as you're told for once."

"Fine, but why on earth do I have to teach him how to navigate the Muggle underground?" demanded Harry as he glared defiantly back at Moody's grotesquely scarred face. Moody growled something unintelligible but Kingsley cut in.

"Tom Riddle has been classified as a half-blood but he seems to remember little or nothing about the muggle world so he will no doubt want his knowledge back. Also, the Ministry believes that it would be more prudent to give him a good 'grounding' in Muggle lifestyles in case he ever recovers his memory."

Harry, who had been expecting the worst, felt that this news was only slightly better than what he had imagined.

"So, Voldemort," everyone hissed unapologetically, "may or may not one day recover his memory -,"

"I never said that," protested Kingsley.

"Yes but think about it," snapped Harry, "Don't you understand that some day someone will find out about this scheme, it's hardly top secret considering half the ministry seems to be privy to it. Some day, someone will tell him the truth and then we will have another war on our hands."

"That is why it is so important to keep him quarantined," said McGonagall with a rather dirty look at Kingsley.

"We at the Ministry believe that it is more important to integrate Tom Riddle back into normal society -," protested Kingsley.

"But you can't say for sure that Voldemort might recover his memory naturally," said Harry fiercely.

"It is _very_ unlikely!"

Mrs Weasley sighed and started to clear the plates.

"We don't like it Harry," she said sadly, "but Professor Dumbledore wrote specifically in his will that if Tom Riddle could be spared he should."

Harry was sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry so he escaped from the crowded kitchen as fast as possible. As he closed the door behind him he distinctly heard Moody chortling.

"…and we haven't told him the really bad part yet!"

His second trip to St. Mungo's was nearly exactly the same as the first but the simpering receptionist was replaced with a much older woman who looked like a security troll. However she too became incredibly excited to stand in the same room as him and refused to let him go to the ward on his own.

Tom Riddle was still there, sitting in the same chair as yesterday, contemplating a set of Muggle Studies books spread out on the table in front of him. The irony was nearly enough to set Harry off on another of his rather manic laughing fits which had started that morning the Burrow after being coldly informed that Dumbledore had wanted Voldemort spared. However he couldn't deny that his former Headmaster (and hero) had a true soft spot for giving people second chances but that did not make the feeling of betrayal go away.

"Harry," said Voldemort jumping up from his seat, "Are you alright now?"

_No I'm jolly well not alright considering you killed everyone I ever loved, destroyed my life and forced me to live sixteen years of hell at the Dursleys!_

But Harry could no more say that than blow up the Ministry, so he settled for a curt nod, which the over eager Voldemort took to be a sign of unconditional forgiveness.

"I've been such an idiot," continued Voldemort as though he want to get the weight of his supposed petty crime off his chest, "I really don't know what came over me…it feels as though the person who did all those things wasn't me."

_Too right it wasn't_, though Harry cynically.

"I just want to start a fresh; you can't blame me for something that I don't even remember…"

Harry gave a non-committal shrug after coming to the conclusion that the morning that the only way he was going to survive this horrendous nightmare was to play the cold fish.

"I've been looking at some pictures…" said Voldemort slowly. His green eyes seemed to swim with tears all of a sudden, "you look so like my son."

"You have a son!" snapped Harry and for the first time he was beginning to regret not attending every single hearing at the ministry. There seemed to be some very nasty gaps in his knowledge.

Voldemort looked terribly confused at his out burst but Harry couldn't care less.

"Who is he?" _Maybe I can get him to come and fill in for me…oh, sod that, he's probably a figment of the Ministry's imagination._

Slowly and cautiously, as though Harry was the one in need of psychiatric help, Voldemort pulled out a photo frame from behind some books and pointed to the dark haired man holding an equally dark haired baby.

"No," said Harry with a laugh that sounded a little too desperate, "no, this is a cruel joke, a really cruel joke…"

"Harry, I know it is very hard for you to take in right now…Nurse Ella did say you went into denial the first time you met me…"

Harry's eyes glinted with ill suppressed mania as he stared at Voldemort and then the moving picture.

"I'm not denying anything! YOU ARE NOT -,"

"Harry!"

Ron and Hermione burst into the room with their wands held high as though they expected to apprehend someone.

"Harry, you need to come and speak with us," pleaded Hermione while Ron simply looked guiltily at the floor.

"NO!" spat Harry and all his pent up rage threatened to pour out, "NO! You tell me right now who dreamt up this!"

"Harry please," Voldemort tried to grip his arm but Harry spun round and raised his own wand which had been cleverly concealed inside his sleeve. It did not seem to deter Voldemort at all. "calm down, do not take your anger out on your friends but if you feel the need to curse me…it is only what I deserve."

Seizing Harry's moment of temporary shock, Ron and Hermione dragged him behind a soundproof curtain and disarmed him.

"Okay, Harry first of all we are really sorry," said Hermione hurriedly.

"You're sorry?" hissed Harry feeling his anger mounting, "what kind of sick person would come up with such a disgusting story! It's my family -,"

"I know," said Ron grimly "but it was all in Dumbledore's will. He thought it all out…"

"What? You mean _he_ planned all this?" snarled Harry with so much hatred that he was sure Dumbledore could not be resting in peace.

"Well, he made plans for all sorts of scenarios," muttered Hermione, "but this was by far the most detailed. The Ministry thought it owed Dumbledore to follow his will to the letter."

"_Dumbledore_, wanted Voldemort to ﾨCto ﾨCto be my father's father! No, he wouldn't do that…" whisper Harry feebly.

"I'm sorry, mate, but that's not the half of it," said Ron looking terribly crestfallen. "Because he's your only living magical relative he's going to be your -,"

"Don't say it," snapped Harry as though speaking the words would make the situation real, "don't ﾨC just don't. I can't stand this; it's all a sick joke." The last words were choked with anguish as he thought back to the picture of James Potter holding his only son.

"Harry, you have to come to terms with this. We thought we could break it to you slowly but Tom had other plans…"

"Listen, mate, it's only for one year. Then you can do whatever you want."

"Tom is going to move back to Little Hangleton, to his parent's house," said Hermione as fast as she could as though hoping Harry would not catch what she was saying. "You're going with him."

"We'll get to visit and besides it must be better than spending the holidays in a broom cupboard with those fat muggles," said Ron with false cheer.

"I think," said Harry coldly, "I will kill Voldemort in his sleep. Then I shall gather an army of followers and overthrow this incompetent ministry. Once I'm done I shall retire to a nice cottage by the sea and keep snakes."

Ron and Hermione broke into uncertain smiles at his wit.

"I am deadly serious,"

"Okay, Harry, you really don't want to end up like You-Know-Who," whispered Ron as though speaking of the devil would reinstate his power.

"I would be doing the world a favour."

"Harry, please," begged Hermione, "Tom will be released from hospital soon and you haven't got much time to learn the entire Ministerial story."

"You have to, mate," implored Ron, "I know the Ministry is filled with complete and utter prats but look at it this way, they can do more damage than You-Know-Who to you … and us…"

Concern for his friends had always been at the top of Harry's motivations and there was no mistaking the worry behind Ron's words. The Ministry had the law on its side and if Harry were to defy it, Ron, Hermione and everyone else he had ever spoken to could be destroyed within a matter of days.

Besides as he could do nothing to change the Ministry's mind about their crazy scheme, Harry decided it would only be right to keep an eye on Lord Voldemort, which he could do well at close quarters. If he showed any signs of regaining his memory, Harry would be in the prime position to destroy him again. It was a sacrifice for the greater good.

"I see," muttered Harry feeling the heat in his heart drain away slowly. "I really don't have much choice do I?"

"That's what we've been trying to tell you all along," said Hermione sternly, "I never thought it would be like this."

"It's okay," sighed Harry, "I can still kill him and make it look like an accident."

This time his joke passed unappreciated.

When they finally emerged from behind the curtain, Gildroy Lockhart had been released from his cubicle and was happily pacing the main room as he chatted away to Voldemort. No matter how many times Harry saw them together he could not suppress the overwhelming urge to laugh.

The overbearing nonsense that poured from Lockhart's mouth was enough for Harry to wish the Voldemort was in his right mind because he would happily risk his own life to see Lockhart strung up and tortured. However Voldemort was currently hurrying over to them with a hopeful look on his face.

"Don't worry Mr. Riddle, Harry's just a little confused right now."

Hermione sounded almost afraid as she approached Voldemort and she stared at him warily as though looking for a hint of red in those green eyes.

"I expect so," said Voldemort kindly and to diffuse the awkwardness in the room he offered them all some fruit. Someone had been thoughtful enough to bring Voldemort bunches of grapes and bowls of strawberries. Ron and Hermione each accepted a few strawberries but true to Ron's personality he slipped them under the nearest bed as soon as he thought Voldemort wasn't looking. Harry refused the offer and hung at the fringes of the group half listening to the useless patter of Lockhart's self adoring soliloquy.

"I hope to be discharged from hospital soon," Voldemort as he passed the bowl of grapes around the seated trio, "I am told that I shall become your legal guardian."

Harry simply stared back at him waiting for his next move. Voldemort leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands together in a rather disturbing manner reminisce of the times when Harry had seen him contemplating a new plot.

"I know you grew up with those awful Muggles and I hope I shall be able to give you a better home."

"Muggles aren't awful," snapped Harry automatically as Nurse Ella hurried in to prevent Lockhart from drinking out of a chamber pot.

"No, of course not, Harry," said Voldemort soothingly, "I was merely referring to your unsavoury relatives. I have a nice house in Little Hangleton, inherited from my father. There's plenty of room for your friends to stay over and many acres of garden. Hopefully when we have enough money we will be able to install a Quidditch pitch. Remus Lupin has told me what a wonderful Quidditch player you are."

Harry kept his expression neutral lest he reveal his disgust at having to discuss this with his arch nemesis. It still felt completely unreal to be sitting in a room with Lord Voldemort whilst discussing his plans for the future.

"Harry'd like that," said Hermione tactfully.

"I think so too," piped Ron dutifully when Hermione stepped on his toe.

"Yeah, I would," muttered Harry, already dreaming up his revenge.

* * *

**AN: New chapter! Hope someone out there is still interested after my very bad hiatus...please review and the next chapter is on my website if you want to read it early - none betaed though. **


	4. Riddle Manor

**Title:** Only Mad Dogs and Englishmen

**Chapter:** 4. Riddle Manor in Day Light

**Keywords:** Harry, Voldemort, amnesia, post-war.

**Author:** Wellingtonboots

**Archive:** Slytherin Serpent

**Summary:** In a high security ward at St. Mungo's sits Lord Voldemort, his magic sapped and his memory gone. His blank features light up as he sees one and only visitor, The Boy Who lived. The Wizengamot says Voldemort can be rehabilitated but Harry knows otherwise.

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to Warner Bros. and or JK Rowling.

* * *

**AN: Thank to everyone for being so supportive of my Harry Potter works - this is not really an update as this chapter was on my website.**

* * *

Life dragged on at the Burrow but the change that had swept through the Order could hardly fail to grip the small isolated farmstead and its occupants. In the following weeks, Harry witnessed first hand the power of Lord Voldemort. As a child he had found it hard to believe that anyone would willing devote their lives to a murderous psychopath but as he watched each and every one of the Order step out of the Spell Damage ward, Harry finally understood where Voldemort's appeal lay. Not only was the Dark Lord persuasively to a dangerous degree, he also had lashings of charm and acting skills. Within a few minutes of meeting him, even the iron clad Professor McGonagall seemed to relax under her tartan shawl. Remus, Tonks and even Mad-Eyed Moody could not find anything to abuse about Tom Riddle and it was abundantly clear to Harry that Kingsley had not only allied himself with the Ministry but had also fallen completely under Voldemort's spell.

All this only served to make Harry even more suspicious than before. He was sure, despite all the rebuffs from Hermione, that there was some sort of grandiose scheme being implemented behind their backs. However the more he bought up his reservations, the more the Order members muttered behind his back.

It was mid August when Tom Riddle was finally given his release papers from St. Mungos and Harry, who had not been able to escape from the torturously ironic situation, started to pack his bags with a martyred air that no one appreciated.

To pretend that Mr and Mrs Weasley were secretly glad to see the back of him, would be doing their hospitality a disservice for they had always treated Harry like one of their own sons but as he packed up his last belongings Harry had the distinct impression they were not sad to see him go.

Ron had said, rather anxiously, that his parents were dazzled by Riddle's acting skills when they visited him in hospital. They had since convinced themselves that Harry was going to have the time of his life with Tom Marvolo Riddle, who was both rich and learned. More disturbingly Mrs Weasley had been heard to say that Ron and Hermione should spend their holidays at Riddle Manor instead.

Neither of his friends had yet fell victim to Riddle's charms or Ministerial spin but sooner or later he had the sinking feeling that they too would forget who Tom really was.

With a heavy sigh of defeat Harry hauled his trunk downstairs where Voldemort was already seated in the living room sipping a cup of tea with Mr Weasley. They were talking about the Department of Transport Regulations. It was a tribute to how seriously the Ministry was taking this pet project of Dumbledore's that Voldemort had been given a very senior position in the Goblin Liason Office.

"Ah, there he is. How have you been Harry?" asked Voldemort enthusiastically. Even though he had resigned himself to his position did not mean that Harry Potter was about to go without a fight.

"Very well thanks to your absence."

Mr Weasley choked on his tea and Ron tried hard not to laugh. Voldemort merely frowned lightly and let the comment pass.

"Thank you very much for the love and kindness you have shown Harry," he said sounding terribly sincere and Mrs Weasley blushed.

"Oh it's nothing, he's like one of ours," she replied simpering under Voldemort's handsome gaze.

_Uh, it's like he's a walking talking confundus charm,_ thought Harry as he gritted his teeth.

"Well say goodbye Harry," implore Voldemort as though talking to a toddler and Harry glared angrily back at him.

"I know what to say," he snapped sounding very childish. "Bye, Mr and Mrs Weasley, thanks so much for everything. I'll be fine."

_And if you find my mangled body inside a giant snake, don't blame yourselves_.

With a firm grip on Harry's arm Voldemort led them to the back garden where they disapparated whilst Ron and his parent waved enthusiastically from their kitchen window. The torture had begun.

Riddle Manor had been owned by Voldemort for years. The conveniently absent owner who kept the building for tax purposes was none other than the feared Dark Lord and it had taken Harry many months to figure that out. However the information was useless in the greater scheme of things because Voldemort never hid any of his Horcruxes there.

The dilapidated manor house had been renovated and a myriad of protective charms had been cast around the building. Voldemort, even as Tom Riddle, liked his privacy.

The front lawn was immaculately kept with overflowing flower beds and delicate fountains. Across the street, several youths had gathered to gape at the house and its garden.

"Can they see us?" asked Harry hastily as one boy stared in his direction.

"No," said Voldemort with a smile, which Harry thought looked decidedly creepy, "They will only be able to see us if you want them to."

The front door swung open of its own accord and Harry was dragged into a grandiose entrance hall paved with black and white marble. Two sweeping staircases led to the first floor and various bright corridors branched off from the main hallway.

"Would you like to choose a room?" asked Voldemort as he re-enlarged Harry's school trunk.

"I'll have the one next to yours," muttered Harry hoping that the request did not sound too embarrassing. It was very important to his surveillance to keep Voldemort as close as possible.

Rather taken aback by his request Voldemort nevertheless smiled kindly and sent the truck upstairs to unpack itself. Having never witnessed Voldemort perform anything over than Unforgivables, Harry was rather unnerved to find the man adept at household spells.

"I'll unpack it myself," muttered Harry and hurried upstairs away from the intimidating figure of the Dark Lord.

* * *

-

It was nearly noon when Harry finally had to leave his room. The four light blue walls had begun to make him feel extremely claustrophobic despite the fact that his room was well lit and contained comfortable furniture. The bed was not as grand as his four-poster at school but this room was only a small guest room and Voldemort had been rather crestfallen when Harry refused to have the furniture Voldemort had clearly intended for his room.

The tall sash window over looked the front lawns and the main street. The street only served the manor house and the land fell sharply away on the other side giving a wonderful view of Little Hangleton from his bedroom window. The gaggle of youths had since gone home and Harry was feeling rather lonely as he could no longer watch them kick their football around.

_I have to start investigating Voldemort;_ he thought as he walked down the stairs, _I need to find out if he is still a danger…_

_Well, of course he's a danger,_ snapped another part of his mind, _he's _Lord Voldemort, _even if he doesn't remember it, the urge to kill Muggles in him is simply too strong to resist. _

It was only then that Harry decided that he needed to prevent any of the Muggle children from coming within sight of the house.

* * *

He found Voldemort, or Tom Riddle, sitting the conservatory reading a book. His slightly greying hair and upright posture gave him the air of a wise and learned man but that wasn't quite enough to fool Harry.

"Come in, Harry," he said jovially, "Have some biscuits, Woody bought them in just now,"

"Woody?" asked Harry with trepidation, the last thing he wanted on his hands was a fanatically devoted house elf to protect Voldemort and foil his investigation.

"Ah, yes, I got her from the House Elf Relocation Centre. I thought that we would need one, all things considered."

_And what are these things you're considering?_ thought Harry cynically as he eyed the innocent looking tray of edibles. Mad-Eye Moody had allows warned him to be constantly vigilant and Harry liked to think that the said Auror would not approve if he ate anything that had been within reach of Lord Voldemort.

"Ah – I'm not hungry," lied Harry and hoped that Voldemort had forgotten how to read minds. However a well conceal look of regret flitted across Tom Riddle's features and Voldemort covered it up with another of his winning smiles.

"Well, have you finished unpacking?"

"Nearly," said Harry vaguely.

"I was hoping that you would join me for lunch and we can discuss some finer points in our arrangement,"

_And what would they be? How and when you're going to string me up and torture me?_ Thought Harry with bitter sarcasm but outwardly he gave strained smile, the best his acting skills would allow, and nodded.

"Well, that's settled then, meanwhile I was hoping we could use this time to get to know each other a bit more…"

The green eyes glinted almost greedily.

"Um –,"

_How do I get out of this one – damn the Ministry, one day _I'm_ going to try to overthrow it!_

"We have hardly spent any quality time together in the last two months; I really feel it would benefit our relationship."

_What relationship? _I_ certainly preferred it when you were trying to kill me, at least I could take pot shots back. _

"Um -,"

"I have been a fool,"

_So you keep telling everyone, but I'm sure you are just as devious as you always were…_

"No, I don't think -," said Harry tensely.

"Harry, I abandon my only son and his family simply because I couldn't stand the fact that he had married a Mudblood,"

_Not sounding so contrite now, is he?_

Voldemort suddenly looked up as though he could hear Harry's thoughts and amended his speech.

"Sorry, I mean Muggle-born…I have been so set in my ways, so unforgiving that I missed my one chance to have a family…I don't wish to burden you with the failings of my youth but-,"

_You murdered your father and grandparents whilst putting the blame on your uncle, yeah I already know. Oh and are you going to mention the bit about that old lady you poisoned?_

"When I was just a baby, my father -," Voldemort paused as though a particularly nasty fish bone had lounged in his throat, "my father left my mother."

_What is the Ministry thinking, telling him all this?_ Thought Harry feverishly, all enjoyment of his cutting secret remarks gone, _do they want him to become a muggle hater all over again?_

"My mother, who was a witch, died soon after and I was raised in a Muggle orphanage."

Instinctively the rather cunning side of Harry's brain, which he had happily denied ownership of before, flared to life and told him in no uncertain terms that his conversation was ripe for the gathering of classified information.

"Do you remember your childhood," probed Harry tentatively. A flash of _something_ glinted in Voldemort's eye but it disappeared so fast Harry thought he could have imagined it.

"No," said Voldemort plainly without any regret, "in fact I'm quite glad I don't."

"Do you remember anything of my childhood?" asked Harry, failing to conceal his curiosity.

Voldemort humoured him with a smile,

"Harry, I was hardly there for you as a child…"

_Okay, so that is the ministry line, he never really knew me as a child. Well at least I won't have to remiss about my babyhood…_

A rather nasty realisation slithered up through his spine and coiled itself comfortably inside his thoughts as though it belonged there.

He had no way of telling Voldemort about his childhood, if the man asked, because he was clearly under the impression that Harry had grown up with his parents. That said, how had the Ministry explained the premise for their arrangement? Even those idiots could not have told Voldemort that he had murdered Harry's parents.

"Uh – well it's alright, I had a good life," said Harry nervously.

Voldemort blinked in confusion,

"Harry, I thought you grew up with Muggles because your parents were murdered by Lord Voldemort,"

"What!" blurted Harry and his scar tingled with sudden pain.

Voldemort was staring at him as though he had clearly lost his mind.

"I'm sorry I said that name," said Voldemort softly and he walked over to Harry with the evil intent of embracing him. "I'm been away so long that I've forgotten how people were sensitive to _the name_,"

_Too right you have, considering how you used to relish the fact no one dared to speak it,_ snarled Harry to himself and the bitterness left him feeling slightly better. _Perhaps I really need a blow up version of Voldemort that I can just abuse when the feeling takes me…_

When Voldemort's long thin arm snaked its way around his shoulders, Harry gracefully extracted himself and stood to one side as though he had moved without the specific purpose of getting away from the Dark Lord.

"The ministry did tell you that I knew about your history, didn't they?" said Voldemort still looking fairly concerned. "I know that you didn't want me to be told because of the pain it would cause, you truly are a wonderful child."

It took all of Harry's considerable reserve of self restraint to keep the look of pure disgust taking over his face.

_If I had known it would hurt you I would have relished telling you every single gory detail and then choking you to death in the name of public service…_

If the part of his mind that harboured his virtuous side was complaining about Harry's less than righteous thoughts, he certainly could not hear it. Though there was little he could do about their arrangement, the childish delight of insulting Voldemort behind his back was something Harry had not grown out of since the war.

"Well," muttered Harry trying to find the most neutral way of expressing his sentiments, "I just thought –you know – you have more things to be getting on with,"

It was a feeble attempt at best but the Dark Lord beamed with pride as though Harry had just saved him from a burning building.

"Harry, if we are going to have a happy and healthy relationship, I think it's more important to be frank and honest with each other than to conceal truth in order to protect each other from pain."

Pausing to savour the overwhelming irony of the situation, Harry smiled mechanically to disguise his thoughts.

_If only he knew…but maybe he does. Tom Riddle was always a brilliant actor._

That sinister thought did not fill him with as much dread as he would have liked but rather it served to bring about a certain degree of joyful spite.

_Well, if Voldemort does go on another rampage, it will definitely be the Ministry's fault._

"Yeah," said Harry with false sincerity that he had learnt from Tom Riddle's diary form, "I think so too."

"Well, firstly I have something to tell you in the strictest confidence," said Voldemort quietly and for a split second Harry was reminded of Dumbledore leaning towards him, ready to confide another secret but then the image was gone as abruptly as Dumbledore's life force had been snuffed out. "I think there is a lot more to my back story than anyone cares to admit. I feel that the Ministry is not being entirely honest with me."

Harry blinked,

_What am I supposed to tell him?_

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**_AN: _Please review - I'm thinking of making this story more interactive so what do you think Harry is going tell Lord Voldemort?**


	5. Tea and Psychopaths

**Title:** Only Mad Dogs and Englishmen

**Chapter:** 4. Tea and Psychopaths

**Keywords:** Harry, Voldemort, amnesia, post-war.

**Author:** Wellingtonboots

**Archive:** Slytherin Serpent

**Summary:** In a high security ward at St. Mungo's sits Lord Voldemort, his magic sapped and his memory gone. His blank features light up as he sees one and only visitor, The Boy Who lived. The Wizengamot says Voldemort can be rehabilitated but Harry knows otherwise.

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to Warner Bros. and or JK Rowling.

**AN: Thank to everyone who reviewed this fic, I know I have quite neglected it but you have kept me going even when I wanted to give up!**

* * *

"I feel that the Ministry is not being entirely honest with me."

Harry blinked,

_What am I supposed to tell him?_

If Harry has not been repeatedly reassured by Alastor Moody that Voldemort no longer has any Legilimency skills, he would have squeezed his eyes shut and bolted out of the door. Even so, he couldn't shake off the same creepy feeling of having his insides raked by those dark green eyes.

"I don't think they have been _dishonest_ with you," said Harry in what he liked to think was a nonchalant tone.

"Really, so there's nothing the ministry has 'forgot' to mention?" asked Voldemort, his steepled fingers peeling apart one by one in a classically villainous manner.

"Um, not that I can remember…"

Voldemort smiled thinly and picked up a canapé,

"You're lying Harry, you never _were _a good liar."

The past tense brought a familiar prickling feeling to the back of Harry's neck. Slowly Harry turned to look Voldemort straight in the eye,

"And how would you know that?"

"I can tell," replied Voldemort simply. "Whatever it is that you are hiding from me, I'm sure you have a good reason but whatever reason that is, it is not good enough to lie to me."

Pausing to eat the canapé, Voldemort's eyes bored into Harry's until he almost felt the back of his skull burning.

"I think I will lay down some ground rules right now," continued Voldemort in full control of the conversation. "I realised you have been raised by muggles in a most neglectful environment and perhaps they have failed to instil a sense of respect in you. I however will not tolerate any disrespect, so let me make everything very clear to you:

'You _will not_ lie to me, you will not challenge me, disobey me or otherwise antagonise me in any way. When I speak to you, I expect to addressed as 'sir' or grandfather, nothing else. You shall not interrupt me or speak back to me unless I give you permission. When I ask you to do something I expect to be _obeyed immediately_."

_I guess you can take the man away from darkness but you'll never take the darkness away from the man…especially this guy_, thought Harry as he held Voldemort's gaze as best he could without flinching. It was even harder than having a staring contest with a hippogriff. A part of him, the teenage rebellious part, wanted very much to scream every single abusive phrase known to man but for once in his life, Harry's nerve deserted him.

Every survival instinct in his mind was crying out for him to told his tongue and for the first time Harry felt a small grain of sympathy for Peter Pettigrew as he imagined having to stand up to Lord Voldemort in all his menacing glory.

_This man was not to be trifled with_.

"I understand," muttered Harry hoping that he sounded contrite enough to pass this test.

"Very well, I won't pursue this matter any further."

A warm charming smile returned to Voldemort's new face and he gestured to the plate of canapés.

"Do have some, Harry, they are delectable."

* * *

In the kitchen of the Burrow, Fred and George Weasley were busy peeling a sack of potatoes with their wands.

"How do you think Harry's getting on with you-know-what?" said Fred causally as he dumped another potato in the pot.

"I dunno but I won't be surprised if the ministry find his mutilated body inside a giant snake," replied George grimly.

"Well," snapped Hermione as she poked her head into the kitchen, "you are optimistic,"

"When _are_ you're parents coming back from Australia?" demanded Fred

"Yes, are they attempting to _walk_ back to Britain?" asked George

Far too used to the twins' unique sense of humour Hermione simply did her best impression of Snape's evil leer.

"I'm going to visit Harry tomorrow, do you want to come? I'm sure if we pressurised Tom Riddle he'll cave in. He does seem rather a soft touch these days."

The twins exchanged worried glances,

"What is it with women and -"

"-Dark Lords? Next thing you know -,"

"- there'll be a Tom Riddle fan club with posters of him half naked on a bed of rose petals."

"Well," said Hermione with a wicked smile, "I'm sure your mother will be the president of that particularly club."

Before the twins could get their wands into duelling positions, Hermione promptly disarmed them both with an elegant flick of her wrist.

"Your mum," she continued nonchalantly, "also wants the pair of you to come with Ron and I to Riddle manor. She thinks it would be good for you to be exposed to some _culture,_"

By the identical looks of pure disgust on the twin's faces, it was quite clear the word _culture_ was synonymous with _evil_ in their unique vocabulary.

"We are not going!" they cried in unison.

"Sorry, boys, take that up with your mum," replied Hermione smugly as she tossed their wands back to them.

* * *

Two hours and a very heavy meal later, Ron, Hermione and two identically disgruntled twins stood on the doorstep of a magnificent Georgian country house.

"Well, no matter what you think of him -,"

"You-know-who's got _style_!"

Hermione paused to shoot a warning glare in the twin's direction before using the lion head knockers attached to the double oak doors. To their surprise the doors swung open silently and they were greeted with the sight of the sparkling marble entrance hall.

"That is _creepy_," muttered Ron as he glanced at the doors warily. "Where is everyone?"

No one wanted to enter the house, because they all distrusted the innocent facade but as the seconds ticked by the small party of four was starting look increasingly stupid standing on the granite steps, staring through the pair of open doors.

"You can come in, you know," said the amused disembodied voice of Tom Riddle.

Everyone jumped with fright but Fred and George refused to admit to it afterwards.

"Okay," squeaked Hermione looking around wildly for the source of the voice, "thanks!"

"We are in the conservatory having afternoon tea," replied Tom Riddle, "do come and join us."

Fred and George exchanged silent glances and pulled their wands out of their sleeves with grim determination, only to be met by a look of pure exasperation from Hermione.

"_Honestly_," she whispered, "if Tom Riddle really wanted a fight I don't think anything short of a nuclear warhead will stop him."

Marching confidently through the front door, Hermione soon found herself utterly lost in the vast marble entrance hall. Four identical oak doors stood on each side of the room in perfect symmetry and she had no idea which on to open. Ron solved this particularly problem by pulling open the nearest set of doors and poking his head cautiously behind the door.

"Nope this on looks like it goes to the basement," he muttered, "and I never want to go down there."

"Use the door on your left, my dear," said the disembodied voice of Tom Riddle, "go down the corridor and you'll see us."

"Blimey!" whispered Ron, as if he was afraid that speaking too loudly would cause the Dark Lord to materialise in front of them, "why does he keep doing that?"

No one bothered to answer him as they made their way through the airy well lit corridor into the back of the house.

Harry was trying hard not to drop the fragile china cup and saucer in his hand, whilst maintaining a calm cultured air. It was much harder than he had first imagined. After listening to the Dark Lord laying down the law, he was beginning to think inviting guest over for tea was not going to be a good idea.

"Hi Hermione," he said, "Hi Ron, Fred, George,"

"We are so happy you decided to drop by,"

Voldemort's voice was all charm and sophistication as he indicated for the guests to take their places around the ornate table filled with scones, cakes and finger sandwiches. Hermione returned the platitudes with good grace whilst the three Weasley boys eyed the delectable edibles in front of them with a mixture of greed and fear.

"Do help yourselves," continued Voldemort cheerfully, "Harry was just telling how wonderful your mother's cooking is and I do hope these trifles will live up to your standards."

"Er...thanks," muttered George uncomfortably.

"Yeah, thanks" said Fred taking the plunge and pulling out a finger sandwich. Ron simply stared back at Voldemort with forced smile and said quietly,

" 'm not really hungry."

"Nonsense," replied Voldemort as the plate of freshly bakes scones floated into Ron's line of sight, "I do insist you try one of everything."

Harry tensed automatically, in the vain hope that Ron would notice his discomfort and discreetly drop his scone under the table when Voldemort wasn't looking.

"Now, you young people must tell me all about the things that have happened at Hogwarts while I was away," said Voldemort eagerly. "I must have missed out on some very exciting adventures these last few years."

For several moments an uncomfortable silence hung over the room, punctured only by Fred's not too subtle cough.

"I promise not to tell anything to your professors," said Voldemort with a laugh, "It might be hard to believe but I was young once and I wasn't a perfect student."

"So, you remember when you were at Hogwarts," asked Harry, trying to keep the shock of from his voice.

"Alas, no but I don't believe I was a teacher's pet, even if Horace Slughorn refuses to portray me as anything but!"

"Well," replied Hermione cautiously, "Professor Slughorn does have a tendency to see the best in everyone. Is he coming back to teach next year?"

"Well I do believe so." Voldemort sipped his tea thoughtfully and then took a refined bite of his finger sandwich. "He did tell me he was very eager to be the head of Slytherin now that Severus has decided to retire from teaching."

The twins exchanged identical looks of malicious delight but Hermione seemed worried.

"Do you think the ministry is going to charge Prof. Snape with murder?" she asked tentatively. "I mean Dumbledore did say in his will that Prof. Snape had done everything as he had ordered. Dumbledore wasn't going to live for much longer and he wanted his death to serve a purpose."

Voldemort considered Hermione over the top of his flowery tea cup with Tom Riddle's bright green eyes.

"I'm sure Severus will be given a fair hearing," he said neutrally, "but it seems rather dark to be talking about such things during afternoon tea."

"Yes, of course," said Hermione rather too quickly, "I'm sure it would be much more appropriate to talk about more light hearted things,"

"Horace tell me that you children have been getting up to all sorts of antics in your years at Hogwarts," continued Voldemort clearly fishing for more details.

Harry pressed his lips tightly together and braced his teacup in front of his face like shield. There was no telling what powers of mind reading the Dark Lord still possessed and the fact that Voldemort was interested in what they had done, no matter how innocent it sounded, was bad news.

"Well," muttered Ron, "we just got up to the same old stuff everyone did, got out of bed after lights out, stole some stuff from the potions cupboard -,"

"-blew up a toilet," added the twins in unison,

"-blew up an exam hall," said Hermione rather sternly.

Voldemort laughed lightly, his face filled with sincere amusement. It really made the visage of Tom Riddle look much younger and more carefree than Harry had believed possible.

"Well you have been busy but," his tone changed suddenly to something much more serious; all vestiges of amusement evapourated from his features, "the last year of school is a very important time for all you and I'm sure you all have great ambitions for the future, I know Harry does,"

The twins turned to look at Harry with matching smirks,

"Still keeping the dream alive?" asked Fred cheekly,

"Yeah we support you," said George

"You'd make one _fine _drag queen," they laughed in unison. Harry scowled at them with annoyance but Voldemort was smiling indulgently at their immature joke.

"I want to be an auror," snapped Harry,

"Well, you will need excellent grades to do that," replied Voldemort without missing a beat, "and you Ronald, your mother tells me you would like to become a hit wizard. All these careers require hard work and dedication as well as good academics. Next year will be the year where your futures are determined and I'm afraid if you wish to succeed there will be very little time for blowing up toilets."

"Actually -," started Hermione who really wanted to clear her name with regards to the toilet debacle, which was entirely Fred and George's fault.

"Seriously though," said Fred in what sounded like a sincerely stern voice, "I want you guys to turn out better than us,"

"Yeah, having no NEWTs makes people look down on you and limits your opportunites," supplied George sounding equally serious.

Ron looked both bewildered and annoyed at being lectured by his delinquent brothers but before he could call anyone a prat, a grandfather clock somewhere in the building started to chime.

"Oh dear is that really the time?" asked Voldemort sounding incredulously like the pompous if harmless Professor Slughorn, "You children really must go home for dinner before Molly has my head."

Voldemort's casual use of Mrs Weasley's name set Harry's teeth on edge and took great pleasure in imagining a physical fight between Ron's mother and the Dark Lord. Ron's mum, he decided, would definitely win especially after she got her fingers into Voldemort's eye sockets.

"Thank you so much for accommodating us," said Hermione politely whilst the Weasleys muttered their thanks in much less coherent tones.

Voldemort smiled his usual charming smile and walked Harry's friends to the door still chatting amicably like he was their old friend too.

Once they were finally alone in the grand entrance hall, Harry turned to scrutinize his enemy. Voldemort – Tom Riddle – was staring intently up at the skylight which illuminated the marble floor in a beautiful pattern of bright colours. He seemed almost peaceful, contemplating the rays of sunshine streaming through the glass. It was hard to believe that only a few months ago, Harry had been standing in the ruined courtyard at Hogwarts facing down this monster in a duel to the death.

Suddenly without warning, Voldemort turn around and in the split second their eyes met Harry felt the subtle intrusion of Voldemort's mind into his own. A flash of images too quick for him to see raced across his vision and Voldemort stepped back looking startled. As Harry pulled his mind back to the physical realm he focused in on Voldemort. He saw just for a moment a strange flicker of fear and more worryingly a flicker of deeper recognition.

* * *

**AN: Please review, I would love to hear your thoughts, comments and everything else!**


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